


Shifting Sands

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Mary I of England: Truth, the daughter of time [4]
Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Tudors (TV), Tudor History - Fandom
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Historically Accurate, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Oneshot, Semi-Canonical Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: Spring 1529. With the Blackfriars Trial approaching, and the gap between her parents widening each day, young Mary Tudor struggles to find her feet in a collapsing world.





	Shifting Sands

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of my Mary I series, but can also stand on its own.

**Spring 1529**

Extricating yourself from a mess was always ten times harder than if you had simply not gotten yourself into it in the first place, Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, reflected as she regarded her young charge standing before her.

If only she had been stricter about her duties as Lady Governess and curbed the tendency of the younger servants of Ludlow Castle to gossip, especially within earshot of their Princess. But she had been so preoccupied these past few weeks by the storms currently brewing in London that she had been more scatterbrained than usual, too worried about the Great Matter to pay attention… the same issue that Mary had overheard servants gossiping about, and had prompted her to seek out Lady Salisbury.

If only she, Salisbury, had been more responsible, then she would not be in this situation, but dwelling on “if only” was useless now. Now the young girl stood before her, her eyes wide and questioning, and Lady Salisbury had the unenviable task of carefully diffusing the rumors Mary had overheard about her father wanting to set aside her mother.

“Yes, Highness, it is true that your royal father has summoned many learned men from across the country, and from Rome and the continent, and charged them and the Cardinal with investigating your parents’ marriage,” Lady Salisbury began, trying to affect a relaxed, offhand tone, as though this were a routine matter, as though there was nothing preposterous about it at all.

It was, of course, galling in the extremes, but Mary did not need to know that.

“But why would Papa need to do that? Why would he need to investigate it at all when they’ve been married for nearly twenty years? When he and Mama were first married, the Pope even issued a dispensation to make their marriage valid-- _two_ of them!” The story of her parents’ marriage had always been one of Mary’s favorite stories, and the one she requested most often as a young child. It was clear she still viewed her parents’ marriage as the idyllic, loving union of her childhood bedtime stories.

“That is true, Princess. But recently, the King has been having some concerns about whether there might have been an error, and to soothe his doubts, he has decided to consult with the theological experts of Europe. It's merely a trifling matter, Princess, and no concern of yours,” Lady Salisbury said dismissively. _Please God, let her leave it at that and drop the matter._

But Mary was too old to be content with pat answers, too astute to take everything her governess said at face value. Had she been younger, it might have been easier to divert questions, but Mary was thirteen now, barely a year or two away from marriage, and she saw right through her governess.

“If it's only a trifling matter, then why has he called just about every scholar and bishop in Christendom to hear the matter? And why would he suddenly worry about whether or not their marriage is proper when they've been married for so long? And why is everyone talking about it, from the tailors to the chambermaids to the laundresses to the kitchen hands to the stable boys? Everywhere I go, people are whispering about the great trial to take place in London, and how the bishops might decide that my mother is no longer Queen! It's not a trifling matter, Lady Salisbury, and you can't try to tell me otherwise. I am the Princess of Wales and I will not be lied to.” Mary finished her speech imperiously, lifting her chin high in an imitation of her mother.

Lady Salisbury was caught by an odd mixture of pride that Mary had grown so clever, and grief that it also meant she could no longer be shielded from the world. Perhaps it was time Mary finally be made aware of the situation… no, she firmly banished the thought. Bringing the Princess into the middle of the Great Matter would create a thousand more problems than it would solve, and she had already been remiss in not holding the servants to a higher standard of behavior. She would have to nip this in the bud.

“Matters having to do with the King and Queen, whether they are trivial or important, always excite a great deal of talk, but remember that panic does not equal magnitude,” she said a little more sharply than she had intended, but she pressed on. “And gossip is a fickle creature. It can contain much innuendo but little intelligence, and half-truths are often more dangerous than outright lies. It is most unbecoming of the Princess of Wales to lend so much credence to idle talk, or to be eavesdropping at all.”

Mary flushed at the rebuke, dropping her gaze to the floor in shame. Lady Salisbury felt a pang at unnecessarily scolding her charge, but she refused to feel guilty. For the girl’s own sake, it was best that she remain as ignorant as possible of the happenings of the world outside Ludlow.

Thankfully, Mary was suitably chastened and nodded at her governess’s words. “I see now that I was foolish in allowing myself to set much store by rumors. Still, I will make sure to pray for my father’s sake, and for my mother’s. They must be so worried by the upcoming trial.”

The Lady Governess smiled thinly. “I am sure your royal parents would be grateful to know they are in your prayers, especially your father.” _God pardon the lie._ “Now come along, Princess. Your tutor Dr. Richard Featherstone is here today, and he will want to see your progress in Latin.”

The mention of her lessons made Mary perk up and smile, and she set off towards the schoolroom, a spring in her step as she hastened along the corridors, Lady Salisbury following along in her wake. Hopefully she had put paid to any lingering curiosity about the proceedings in London, and they would avoid any more of these close calls.

The easiest way to get out of a mess was to not get into it in the first place, after all.

* * *

At this point, Mary’s Latin lessons were little more than formalities. She was already articulate in the language and could hold her own in extended conversations with much older speakers. Dr. Featherstone hardly needed to instruct her or even correct her at all anymore, so while their lessons continued ostensibly for review, they had become opportunities for Mary to show off. She knew she should not let it go to her head, and especially in the last year, her governess had been telling her she ought to curb her pride, as too much of it could make one vain and blind to reality. Mary knew Lady Salisbury was right, just as she was right about Mary not heeding gossip, and about the myriad other flaws that Mary needed to work on if she wanted to be worthy of being the Princess of Wales.

But Mary enjoyed knowing that she was an excellent scholar, that she had a flair for languages and could trounce Dr. Featherstone in debates, enjoyed seeing his surprise at how much his pupil had learned. She knew she had exceeded people’s expectations, and she saw no reason to be ashamed that she was a worthy heir to her father, for heir she knew she would be. Every Sunday, the faithful of England still dutifully mouthed prayers for the birth of a prince, but neither Mary nor anyone else was blind to the fact that her mother was long past the age of childbearing.

Unless God worked a miracle, Mary would one day be Queen of England, and she wanted to know that she was doing everything she could to be a good ruler. Was it wrong to practice as hard as she could, and to be satisfied when her perseverance paid off, secure in the knowledge that she would be a great queen? Was she committing the sin of pride by doing so?

Perhaps she was, she thought as her mind drifted back to the rumors she’d been hearing lately. Lady Salisbury might have dismissed them as senseless hysteria, but Mary knew there was some truth to the whispers about the possibility that the Legatine Court could decide against her mother. If they did, they would be able to say that her mother had never truly been Queen at all, and in a few strokes of the papal pen, everything her mother had accomplished in her time in England would be meaningless.

As much as it upset her to think of her mother being dismissed like that, she couldn’t deny that justice would demand it, if the court discovered there had indeed been some error in the dispensations issued eighteen years ago. Queenship could be taken away in an instant, simply due to a legal mistake, and it was folly to believe herself safe from such a calamity, just because of a knack for languages.

Not that Mary would ever have to worry about her mother’s specific plight. Her mother’s status as Queen was contingent upon her marriage to Mary’s father, which could be called into question, while, if Mary ever became Queen, she would do so in her own right.

Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about what her parents must be feeling. She couldn’t imagine why her father would want to investigate his marriage so suddenly after all these years, when he knew what a negative verdict would mean for him and her mother, yet his concern had clearly been so great that he had put all the effort into summoning the bishops, the cardinals, and setting up the Legatine Court. What courage it must have taken for her father to take such a step, despite being aware of the possible consequences, and to have gone through with it anyway. Although it shamed Mary to admit it, even in the privacy of her own thoughts, had she been in his position, she would have kept silent rather than ever bring the issue to light and risk the destruction of her marriage.

But her father had always been a truly devoted Catholic who put his duty to God and his conscience above all else, even his earthly desires and affections. When the Holy Church was first threatened by Luther’s heresy, he had written a pamphlet defending the papacy and been honored with the title of _Fidei Defensor._ It might pain him to make such a move, knowing how it could hurt his wife and himself, but he had done it anyway.

If Mary could become a fraction of the ruler he was someday, someone who had the moral fiber and the integrity to make such a difficult decision, despite the personal cost, she would be able to rest easy, knowing she had done her duty to her country.

With that in mind, she returned her full attention to the lesson, which Dr. Featherstone was finishing up anyway. “It seems Your Highness has mastered Latin to the extent that you no longer need a tutor,” he said, his expression beaming.

Mary inclined her head in acknowledgement of this compliment. “I would never have reached such heights without your good instruction and patient guidance, sir.”

“That is true, Highness, but do not underestimate your own worth. Had you not been so excellent and diligent a student, I would not have been able to guide you at all. You truly ought to be proud of yourself; you are one of the best students I have ever had the pleasure of teaching, girl or no.”

Mary ducked her chin to hide her flushing cheeks, her pride warring with her sense of reason. Dr. Featherstone was not a man to resort to false flattery, so she knew his praise was sincere, but a voice very much like Lady Salisbury’s hissed in her ear not to be carried away by it. Partially because it was expected of her, and partially to tamp down the sinful feelings of pride rising within her, she said modestly, “I only hope to be a credit to their Majesties, especially my royal father.”

Was that a glance her governess and her tutor had exchanged? But in the next second, both of them were smiling broadly, so she must have imagined it. “I can tell you with all honesty that you are, Princess, and that they both must be very proud of you.”

The words were intended as a compliment, but they made Mary’s stomach twist with shame. Would they really be so proud of her, if they knew about the tiny, selfish part of her that shrank from the thought of having to make difficult decisions? What kind of Queen would she be if she lacked backbone? What would happen if she lost her nerve while in the middle of a war, or while dealing with a pretender, or an economic crisis?

She concealed her anxiety behind a gracious smile, thanking Featherstone for his devotion to her and his kindness, and bidding him farewell as he departed. As soon as the door was shut, her smile fell off, her thin features knitting in anxiety and guilt. But there was no time for wallowing in self-pity before Lady Salisbury reminded her that her parents’ weekly letters to her from Whitehall had arrived and were waiting for her. The news lightened her heart; any communication with her parents always had the power to cheer her up.

Her parents truly were a remarkable king and queen, she thought as she sat down to pen her replies. The revelations of the day had given her a newfound respect for them, and she wanted the letters she sent back to court to reflect that, somehow.

* * *

For the second time that day, Mary stood before Lady Salisbury, although this time it was governess who had summoned girl, not the other way around. Lady Salisbury was very tempted to slap her, but she could hardly strike a girl so close to womanhood, much less one who was also Princess of Wales. Nor did she want to fly into a raging temper that would have tongues wagging, so she returned her attention to the letter clenched in her fist. For the tenth time, she reread the offending last paragraph, in Mary’s impeccable Latin script.

_And before I close my letter, I commend Your Majesty heartily for your great wisdom in assembling the Legatine Court in London to decide upon Your Majesty’s marriage to my lady mother, and your courage in doing so, for I cannot imagine such a decision was made lightly or with great ease. Yet Your Majesty did so anyway, and thanks be to God that He has sent us a King who places his conscience above all else. I know Your Majesty must be deeply worried about the legitimacy of your marriage, and I shall be praying daily that the bishops are able to assuage your troubled conscience by showing that Your Majesty’s marriage has no impediment in the world or in Heaven._

It made Lady Salisbury faint to think of how easily the letter might have slipped past her. She rarely checked Mary’s letters to her parents, as she was old enough to manage her own correspondence. If Mary had not decided to write the letters in Latin on an impulse, and Dr. Featherstone had not jokingly asked to give them a once-over, something he really didn't need to do as he knew a student of Mary’s proficiency needed no proofreader… Thanks be to God he had done so, for the good doctor had read those dread words at the end of the letter, been alarmed, and promptly alerted the Countess.

What a calamity it would have been if that letter had reached the King!

Queen Katherine was already in enough trouble, what with the constant delays in Cardinal Campeggio’s arrival and the King suspecting his wife’s nephew of having a hand in those delays. His patience was wearing thin, and if he believed that his child was being poisoned against him, his wrath would have fallen upon those closest to the Princess, including Lady Salisbury, whose kinship to the Pole family had never endeared her to the King anyway, and Dr. Featherstone, who was the Queen’s chaplain and had spoken in her favor.

The governess crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it into the fireplace, prompting a cry of outrage from Mary, but Salisbury did not care. If the girl was shocked by her governess’s uncharacteristic outburst, so much the better! Perhaps the pain of seeing her hard work reduced to cinders would teach her a lesson.

The Countess turned away from her, marching up and down the length of the chamber, her hands shaking in anger and fear. “How could you?" She demanded. “Do you have any idea what your words could have wrought?”

Mary was completely unrepentant. “My father would have been glad to know that I am thinking of him, and taken heart from my words.”

Lady Salisbury didn't know whether to be impressed or scandalized by the girl’s audacity. “Are you mad? You know perfectly well that you are not supposed to have any knowledge of what is going on in London! Do you honestly believe your royal father would be glad to know that his daughter is an eavesdropping busybody? If you did not hear word of it through official channels, it means that it pleased His Majesty for you to know nothing of the Legatine Court, and if you are too nosy to obey his commands, you could at least have the sense to pretend that you know nothing!”

“But Lady Salisbury, my father must be so worried! You can tell me that it's nothing important all you want, but that doesn't change the fact that what is happening in London is big, and my father is sure to be beside himself with worry. For him to summon such a large gathering of bishops must mean that his concerns run deep, and he needs my reassurance at a time like this.”

Lady Salisbury and Dr. Featherstone exchanged a significant glance. How perceptive the girl was-- and how heartbreakingly naïve. She had correctly surmised that it was perhaps the most important legal matter to ever take place in England, despite all the adults in her life saying otherwise. Despite herself, Lady Salisbury was proud of the girl-- and sad for her, as well. For all of Mary’s intelligence, she was still too innocent to suspect that her father might have a reason other than qualms of conscience for assembling the court.

“But Princess, do you not see that you are being arrogant in assuming that you know best what to tell the King?” The words were rebuking, but the Countess’s voice was gentler now. “If he did not tell you anything about it, it means that he wants you to stay out of it, not comfort him about it. Trust his judgment, for he is your father as well as your king, and you are doubly bound to obey him. To do otherwise would be incurring the sin of pride.”

Mary flushed at the mention of pride, the flaw that had been the subject of many of their conversations in the past year, but her resolve did not falter. “I understand your reasoning, Lady Salisbury, but I must write to my father, no matter what. I would be a most undutiful daughter if I did not.”

Mary got up and made to leave, before suddenly turning back, her eyes blazing. “My duty to my father lies above my duty to you, Lady Salisbury. I am writing to him, regardless of what you say.”

With that, she strode over to the door and ordered the nearest servant over. Lady Salisbury’s heart skipped a beat when she realized that Mary was about to pull rank on her. As Princess of Wales, it was certainly Mary’s prerogative to overrule her governess if she so chose, although she had never dreamed of abusing that power. Until now.

The governess was upset that the girl she had helped raise was capable of such an act, but at the same time, she was secretly impressed that Mary was so loyal to her parents that she would defy her governess to do what she considered to be right. She truly had the makings of a fine queen, and for the thousandth time, Lady Salisbury wondered how King Henry could _not_ see that the heir he so desperately craved was already right in front of him. But then there were a lot of things she did not understand about her sovereign lord, so she put aside the thought. Perhaps Mary might be able to stand up to him, at some point in the future. Perhaps hearing the truth from his own child’s lips would move him… but she was getting ahead of herself, right now she had to focus on saving Mary from herself.

Mary was still glaring at her governess. “Do you hear me? Before the day is out, I will have another letter drafted and on its way to Whitehall, wishing my father well and praying that the bishops deliver a true verdict!”

“Princess,” Lady Salisbury strove to keep her voice as smooth as possible, but she couldn’t keep a tremble out of it. “Princess, your father does not want to hear the bishops decide in favor of his marriage.”

Mary froze where she stood, stock-still. “What?” Her voice was full of disbelief, confusion, and the tiniest bit of fear.

Lady Salisbury bit her lip, hard enough that she could taste blood. What a mess, what a mess she had gotten herself into.

“I think you had better come into the parlor and sit down, so that I might explain this all properly and in private,” she said finally, with a heavy sigh.

With that the governess set off for the parlor, the stricken Latin tutor as well as a very stunned and subdued princess following in her wake.

* * *

Mary sat in an armchair, her forehead furrowed in deep thought. Lady Salisbury thought irrelevantly that she looked just like Queen Katherine, who adopted the same pose when she was worrying, which had been quite often lately. Together, Lady Salisbury and Dr. Featherstone had related the entire sordid tale of the Great Matter: her mother’s first marriage to her late Uncle Arthur, the passage in Leviticus, Anne Boleyn, the sack of Rome, and the breakdown of relations between her parents. It had not been an easy story to tell, with Mary interrupting to ask questions and clarifications at many intervals, and answering them had kept them in the parlor all afternoon. It was now long past sundown, and the room had lapsed into tense silence, the two adults watching the brooding girl intently.

The Princess of Wales’ mind was awhirl with the revelations of the day, trying to digest them and make sense of it all. A tiny, vicious part of her wanted to be gleefully thrilled that she had been right about the Legatine Court being more important than all the adults said it was. Just _how_ important, however, she hadn’t been able to imagine, and being informed of the true magnitude of the Legatine Court left her quite unable to take any petty satisfaction being proven right. What she had thought was something that had cropped up in the last few months was actually a storm that had been brewing for years, long before she was born, perhaps ever since her mother lost her first child barely a year into her marriage.

She couldn’t quite grasp all the legal and theological arguments her governess and tutor had outlined to her, most of them being of an esoteric bent, but she didn’t need to. In the end, the crux of the matter lay in the very sentence that had started it all: _Your father does not want to hear the bishops decide in favor of his marriage_.

Far from being a man of inestimable courage and fairness, as she had been so fondly thinking only hours earlier, her father was desperately hoping that the bishops would accept the bizarre zigzagging of theology and Biblical verses he had concocted up as justification for dissolving his marriage of twenty years. He wanted them to tell him that his marriage was invalid, so that he could marry this new woman, Anne Boleyn, the witch who had planted all these ideas in his head in the first place. He didn’t care that in doing so, he would not only be ending his marriage to Queen Katherine, but also erasing the fact that it ever happened in the first place.

All the years her mother had spent together with her father, all the love she had given him, the many children she had borne him, all the charity and good she had accomplished as Queen of England… all of it would be worthless, all because her father wanted to declare that those years were spent together in sin. He didn’t even care that in doing so, he would be branding his own daughter, Mary, the pearl of his world, a bastard, and stripping her of her rights. And unlike her half-brother Fitzroy, the Duke of Richmond, Mary would not be treated like a trueborn daughter in all but name. She would be shunted to the side, replaced by the new children her father would have with his new queen, and shut out of his new life.

The Countess watched her charge anxiously, for a sign of anything: anger, fear, disbelief, but nothing. Mary, usually a bright and talkative child, had been rendered completely mute by the weight of this afternoon’s revelations. Salisbury had not wanted to tell Mary, but for better or for worse, she knew now. Perhaps it was inevitable that with the Great Matter steadily gaining traction, Mary would have come to know at some point, and it was probably better that she found out from people who cared about her rather than from those who wished her ill.

Now she just hoped that Queen Katherine would understand.

* * *

It was most unwise of Katherine to leave court when the Convocation was in full force, but when Lady Salisbury’s missive reached her, she came rushing to Ludlow. Her daughter needed her mother, and all other matters could wait for a while.

After Lady Salisbury had apprised Katherine fully on the details of how Mary discovered the truth, and Katherine had dismissed her, she ushered her distraught daughter into the privacy of her bedchamber, where they could talk without prying ears listening in.

“Is it really true?” was the first thing out of Mary’s mouth, once they were alone. She knew Lady Salisbury would not have lied to her about something as enormous as this, but she had to hear it from her own mother, someone directly at the heart of the matter, before she could accept it.

“Yes, _mi cielo_ , it’s true. I had hoped to shield you from this a little bit longer, and I am sorry that you had to hear of it this way.” Katherine’s voice was soothing, but the confirmation only stoked Mary’s anger.

“It’s wrong of Papa to do this!” She shrieked. “Completely and utterly wrong! He can’t make this new lady, this Anne Boleyn his queen, no matter what, and he can’t make her sons his heirs. You are the Queen and I am his Princess, nobody else!”

Mary’s eyes were brimming with tears and her breathing was rapid. Katherine smoothed a hand over her daughter’s hair and cupped her face in her hands. “God Himself called for us to fill those roles, and no one can take those from us. But you must be aware that a time may come when we have to fight for our titles.”

“But we shouldn’t have to.” Mary’s voice was so petulant and so full of conviction that Katherine drew back from her embrace.

“What do you mean, _mi cielo_?”

“Why should we have to worry about losing our rights, just because Papa’s taken a shine to a more uppity whore than usual? I didn’t do anything wrong other than be born Princess of Wales, and this isn’t my fight.”

“But it is _your_ fight, Mary.” Katherine’s voice hardened. “Everything I have done, everything I sacrificed has been for your sake. At the end of the day, your father’s intention-- that is, Mistress Anne’s intention-- is to see _you_ removed, not necessarily me, so that her brats may take your place. I am merely the intermediary. So yes, it is your fight as well. I have been working day and night, contacting lawyers and scholars from all across Europe, pulling strings and asking favors, in some cases standing upon my head and casting aside all dignity, so that I have a strong enough case to prevent you from being named a bastard. I have been through hell and back for you, and you must also do your part!”

Her voice had risen to a shout, although she did not want to lose her temper with the girl. But she could not help herself. Months of agonizing and struggling not to crumble under the strain of the Great Matter had taken its toll, and to find that Mary was completely ungrateful for all that her mother had done was making it very difficult for Katherine to not slap that insolent pout off her face.

Mary should have heeded her mother’s loss of temper as a warning sign and immediately apologized, but she was too much like her father to admit defeat-- and like her mother, Katherine admitted-- and she shouted right back, her anger matching her mother’s, “But _I_ didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not going to help clean up a mess I didn’t make!”

This time Katherine really did slap Mary across the face, the sound echoing off the high stone ceilings. It took both of them by surprise, as Katherine couldn’t even remember consciously deciding to draw her hand back before it had already happened. They stared at each other in stunned silence, before Katherine abruptly turned around and left the room.

What on earth had possessed her? She had never struck her daughter for any reason, not even for childhood tantrums. Yet Mary’s words had resonated with Katherine too much, had echoed the unpleasant thoughts that had lingered in her own mind for months. She had seen herself in Mary too much, and in lashing out at her, she had really been lashing out at herself.

Katherine sighed, something she seemed to be doing a lot lately. The world they knew really had been turned upside down by Anne Boleyn.

* * *

Mary found herself on her knees in the chapel, although for whom or what she was praying she couldn’t say. For her father to turn from this path and return to his true wife, for her mother to forgive her, for herself to be forgiven for committing the sin of pride yet again. She had truly thought she was doing the right thing by writing to her father… or had that just been her old flaw, hubris, rearing its head? The arrogance that led her to disregard the advice of everyone around her, even that of much more learned heads than hers, and to believe that she alone knew what was right? That had led her to speak like that to her own mother?

Was this a message from God, a punishment for her pride? Was He guiding her father to disinherit her by sending Anne into his path and planting the idea of annulment in his head, because He knew that Mary would make a terrible queen? But no… if her mother did not believe Mary would make a good queen, she would not be fighting so hard on Mary’s behalf, and she wouldn’t have reacted so badly to Mary’s words.

The girl heard footsteps, and she turned to see that her mother had entered the chapel as well. Instinctively, Mary ducked into the shadows as she watched her mother slowly approach the altar. Even in the dim light of the candles, Katherine of Aragon looked so dignified, so regal. Mary could never hope to be a fraction of the queen her mother was.

The Princess continued to pray, although silently, not wanting to hurt her mother any more, when she had come to the chapel for peace. Despite herself, she felt tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, feeling ridiculously insufficient in comparison to her mother. She bit her lip, trying not to make any noise, but she must not have been as successful as she thought she was, because she felt cool arms wrap around her from behind.

Mary turned to find that her mother was embracing her, and before she knew it, she had dissolved into a flood of tears, sobbing into her mother’s skirts. Her sobs grew louder and louder, despite her best efforts, until they were echoing in the high-ceilinged chamber. Katherine tightened her embrace, something that warmed and shamed Mary in equal measure. She didn’t deserve her mother’s comfort, not after everything, but she still yearned for it.

“Forgive me, Mama,” Mary finally whispered when she had managed to stop stuttering long enough to speak.

“There is nothing to forgive,” her mother replied in a calm tone that only had Mary sobbing harder. “It’s not your fault, and it’s neither of our faults. People under a great deal of stress often say and do things they don’t mean, and it does not mean they are bad people. The sands of your world are shifting, and you are not wrong for feeling betrayed that you have to bear the burden of somebody else’s actions.”

Mary nodded, snuggling tighter in her mother’s embrace. “I never could have imagined that one woman could cause so much damage,” she said in a voice laden with bitterness, though she was calmer now.

“Neither could I,” Katherine murmured darkly, as much to herself as Mary, who marveled at hearing such rancor from her gentle mother. But Katherine seemed to gain control of herself and smiled at her daughter. “Take heart, daughter. God and the Holy Father are on our side, as well as the Emperor, and between the three of them, I am sure they will be able to ensure that justice is done.”

Mary led out a small chuckle at that. They remained like that, comfortably ensconced in each other’s warmth, until the doubts that had been burrowing in Mary’s soul made their way to the surface. “Mama?” She asked, biting her lip. She might not like the answer, but she needed to hear her mother’s sage advice. “Do you think… do you think I will make a good queen someday?”

“Of course, _mija_. You have the blood of kings and queens in your veins, and God Himself has endowed you with the qualities necessary to one day become the greatest ruler England has ever seen.”

“But Mama, there are times when… when I let my pride get the better of me, and when it has gotten me into great trouble. It was because of my pride that I almost sent that letter to Father, and that I shouted at you like that.” She guiltily broke eye contact with her mother, gazing down at the flagstones beneath her feet. Mary forged on with her confession, her heart fearing the answer. “What if I’m not really going to be a good Queen? What if all of this is God’s doing, so that England doesn’t have such a travesty as me inflicted upon her? What if I never learn how to properly tame my pride? What if it is my undoing as Queen?”

She had said it. She had bared her soul to her mother, the woman whom she both respected and feared more than anyone else in the world. She would rather disappoint God than disappoint her mother, as sinful as the thought was, and she would never be able to live with herself if she tarnished her mother’s legacy through her folly and pride.

To her immense relief, her mother shook her head. “You are not going to be a failure as a Queen, for God Himself intended for you to be Queen. Why else would he have ensured you are your father’s only legitimate child?” Though Katherine was smiling, there was a hint of pain in her voice at the thought of the many children she had lost over the years. Despite it all, however, she was convinced that God had called them back to Him for a reason, because he intended for Mary to be Queen. God sometimes worked in mysterious ways, and Katherine was convinced that this was one of His mysterious ways. “If your pride was truly your downfall, you would not have felt remorse and you would not strive as hard as you do to become a better woman and a better future queen.”

Katherine bent down so that she was level with her daughter. She had done this before, when Mary was first sent to Ludlow; she had grown so much taller since then. The older woman cupped Mary’s chin, framing her face with her hands. “I have been a Queen for many years, and I was the daughter of an even greater Queen, and I know the makings of a great queen when I see one. I have all the faith in the world that you will be the greatest Queen of all one day, and I swear to you that I shall do everything in my power to make that destiny a reality.”

Mary returned her mother’s smile, her heart swelling with the kind of warmth that comes only from making one’s mother proud-- or was it only her mother’s pride that she felt within her? For a moment, she could have sworn there was a heavenly presence in the chapel with them, as though God Himself was also there and had sought to boost the faltering spirits of His faithful servants. It was a fanciful thought, but Mary was convinced that this was the Lord’s doing.

“I will do everything in my power as well to become a Queen worthy of England,” Mary vowed back fiercely. “And if a time comes when I have to fight, I will do so gladly. I don’t care if I have to walk through the valley of the shadow of death-- so long as you and God are with me, I will fear no evil.”

Katherine nodded and gave Mary a gentle push in the direction of the door to the chapel, signalling that she would like some time alone. Mary nodded and withdrew, sweeping her mother a deep curtsey before departing.

Katherine watched her go, her mind churning. She had dreaded this day for years, the day that Mary must leave behind her childhood behind for once and for all; yet when it had finally arrived, her daughter had proven that, at heart, she was made of iron, not glass, and that even if she was filled with doubt, she was still ready to dedicate herself wholeheartedly to the cause. As much as Katherine grieved for the loss of the innocent little girl who had ridden on her father’s shoulders and played Latin guessing games, she had a new ally in the brave young woman who had taken her place.

As reassured as she was by the afternoon’s events, Katherine found that she was still seized with doubt. Mary might no longer be completely ignorant, but she didn’t even know half of the entire truth yet.

Mary didn’t know that even if the Pope decided in their favor, there were rumors about the Boleyn girl’s Lutheran leanings, that she was swaying Henry into adopting him and that he might be prepared to renounce the Pope and start his own Church if he did not get the annulment he wanted.

Mary didn’t know that even if the Pope did rule that Henry had to stay married to Katherine, there was a tiny part of her that did not want to remain married to the monster Henry had become.

Mary didn’t know about the bitter invective Henry had hurled at her over these past few months, when his temper grew particularly frayed, and how in his darkest moments, he had threatened to separate her from Mary, believing that she might try to negatively influence her.

Mary didn’t know that Katherine had her own doubts, fleeting as they were, about whether or not she was truly doing the right thing in pursuing this course. Her marriage to Arthur had remained unconsummated, of course, she had not lied on that score. But the memory of the execution of the young Earl of Warwick, Lady Salisbury’s brother, the execution of an innocent man that her parents had demanded occur before she be sent to England, often rose up in her mind. In her darkest moments, she wondered if her marriage was founded upon blood, and she was now paying the price for that.

No, Katherine rebuked herself, her marriage was holy and valid in God’s eyes. It was Anne’s avaricious, grasping nature who had corrupted Henry, and Wolsey who had played on his King’s insecurities, leading him by the nose into blasphemy for their own unsavory ends.

Mary didn’t know that in spite of Katherine’s conviction that everything would be all right in the end, in spite of her words to Mary, there were times when Katherine wondered… what if it wasn’t?

**Author's Note:**

> The Blackfriars Court took place in June 1529, and would have indeed excited a great deal of talk in the months prior. Whether or not Mary became aware of the Great Matter at this point in history is pure speculation, but for the purposes of this story, she does so here.
> 
> Lady Salisbury and Dr. Richard Featherstone are both historical figures who were instrumental in Mary’s childhood. Salisbury was Mary’s governess and Featherstone was her Latin tutor and doctor, as well as Katherine’s chaplain. Both were executed by Henry VIII and eventually beatified by the Catholic Church. 
> 
> Henry did write a pamphlet in 1521 defending the Pope when Luther first announced his ideas to the world, and received the title Fidei Defensor as an honor.
> 
> Katherine of Aragon’s first pregnancy resulted in a prematurely born stillborn girl in January 1510, seven months after her marriage to Henry VIII. Sadly, it was the first of many children that she was fated to lose. Later in life, she indeed wondered whether the execution of the Earl of Warwick had cursed her marriage to be barren and eventually destroyed. 
> 
> If anyone has any ideas or requests for any moments from Mary's life, seeing her interact with other Tudor figures, AU Mary-centric ideas, or even an entirely Mary-unrelated idea, leave me a comment!


End file.
